What's the point?
by Sierra1
Summary: I'm going for angst here, humor me. Please review!


They painted up your secrets   
With the lies they told to you  
  
It was that dream again. The screams, the green light, the high cruel laughter cutting through his soul like a knife. He wondered what it all meant, and why it seemed so familiar. But no one ever told him anything. Still, who was that screaming? Why did that laughter scare him so? And why did it leave him with that nagging feeling, the kind you get when you've forgotten something important?  
  
Seven-year old Harry Potter sat up in his meager bed in the stairway cupboard, amid the myriad of dusty cobwebs and spiders. He rested his head of black flames in his small hands and sighed. He'd long ago given up trying to make sense of his dreams; they were too cryptic to make any sense of. He had once asked his Aunt Petunia about his parents, but her reaction was to scream and attempt to hit him over the head with a frying pan, so it wasn't worth it to try again. All they ever said was that they had been burdened with him when Lily and James Potter had died years before in a car crash. That didn't really explain anything, but it was the best he ever got. Tears of loneliness coursed down his face and pooled in his emerald green eyes.  
  
And the least they ever gave you  
Was the most you ever knew  
  
Last Christmas. He could remember it vividly, though it was months ago. As usual, Dudley had gotten his ridiculous amount of presents: his first t.v, a parrot, a mountain bike even though he couldn't ride a bike yet, the list was endless. Harry sat huddled in the corner watching them in misery. He looked at his own meager pile of gifts; a pair of Dudley's old socks, o toothpick, and a ratty old teddy bear that Dudley had pulled the arms off of years before. He hugged it to his frail body as his eyes welled up with tears like crystal green lakes. It was times like these that made him want to curl up and die. No one loved him anyway, so what was the point in living? He looked around the room and saw a small toy car lying abandoned a few feet away from his position. Checking to make sure no one was watching, he crept over and picked it up. The axle was bent, but it was still better then anything of his. He softly wheeled it around when he heard a long, loud wail coming from Dudley. He looked up to see him pointing a fat little finger at him and wailing loudly. Before he had time to say ' Rudolph' he was back in the cupboard with the door locked tight, alone in the dark. He sat silently, waiting for sleep to claim him. He had no idea that Christmas was any different for normal kids, he didn't know any different. For him, the holiday was all about sadness and neglect. There was no one to tell him otherwise.   
  
And you wonder where the dreams go  
When the world got in your way  
  
Once again, he lay alone in the dark of his cell, also known as the cupboard. He spent the night trying to remember his parents, any memory would be welcome. Any piece of his past. But even as he tried, all he came up with was a black, forbidding void in hid mind. A stretch of emptiness where he should have kept them. He dug under his mattress and dragged out a small faded scrap of paper. Unfolding it, he looked down on the faded picture. It was simple, just a portrait of two girls. One tall and plain, the other small and beautiful. He knew them to be his Aunt Petunia and his mother, Lily. He'd found the picture one-day in a photo album stashed in the attic. He'd been cleaning it when the book had fallen open ,as if by magic, to the picture. He now kept it with him. As he smoothed out the creases, he sent out a silent prayer. Maybe, just maybe, it would bring about some dream of his parents. But as he drifted off to sleep, the only thing that entered his mind was the sense of weariness and pain from a day spent gardening and cleaning.  
  
What's the point in all this screaming  
No one's listening anyway  
  
You're voice is small and fading  
As you hide in here unknown  
  
She huddled in the bathroom behind the locked door. The screams from downstairs echoed off of the tiled walls and bounced off of the shower curtain. She hid her head in the bend of her arms as she heard the shatter of glass on the wall downstairs. The voices raised higher as she curled up tighter in her man-made hole of towels behind the curtain.  
  
Seven year old Hermione Granger cried silently as she listened to her parents scream at each other. She tried to tell herself it wasn't her fault, but couldn't help but believe other wise. It all began with a 'B'. Just a small letter grade, no big deal at all. Or so she figured. Of course, her father had other ideas. She cringed as she was remembered the sight of his face. He always was a perfectionist, nothing less was ever good enough. If she got an 'A', it had to be an 'A+'. If it was a 'B', all hell broke loose in his opinion. Her mother had tried to stick up for her, but nothing helped. He hadn't even listened to Hermione's explanations, it was as if she hadn't said anything at all. Hermione had fled as soon as the yelling had started. It wasn't the first time they had done this, it happened all the time in the Granger household.  
  
And your mother loves your father  
'Cause she's got nowhere to go  
  
She didn't understand why her Mother even put up with it. It wasn't as if she couldn't do better. But Mrs. Granger was insecure in matters concerning marriage. She had married young and didn't know any better. Hermione knew that her mum and dad really did love each other. Very deep down. But, her mum didn't believe she could do any better, so they stayed. Another glass shattered downstairs. Hermione envied her older brother, away at collage. He didn't have to put up with any of this. She tried to please everyone, but if she was studying to make her dad happy, her mum wanted her to play. If she was playing, her dad thought she should be studying. One person was disappointed either way, and she could never please both. It wasn't fair, but she couldn't help it. She didn't know what else to do.   
  
And you wonder where the hope went  
When the world got in your way  
  
Hermione lay alone at night, going over her usual routine of reminiscing the day's events. A lot of people would think about their friends, or where they went that day. She just thought about school, seeing as she had no friends. It was sad, really. She was so caught up in schoolwork; she never had time for friends. When she tried to talk to people, they thought she was stuck up. Their favorite nicknames were usually along the lines of 'Horrible Hermione', or 'Teachers Pet'. Tears ran down her cheeks as she remembered how they made fun of her. All she did was try to answer the questions, but whenever she raised her hand in class, she heard the whispers behind her. They thought she was a suck up. She tried to convince herself that it didn't matter what people thought of her, but she'd just be denying herself the truth. She didn't even know why she bothered to try to make friends at all. It was pretty much a hopeless cause.  
  
Why do you even bother trying  
Nothing's changing anyway  
  
They left you in the darkness  
Overshadowed by success  
  
Stupid Bill. Stupid Charlie. Stupid Percy. They all got more attention than him. Even Ginny got more attention then him, and she was only six. Everyone was running around the house, not caring one bit about him at all. All because Bill was graduating. What was the big deal about that? Just because he was Head Boy. Of course, no one paid any attention to him even when nothing was happening. It was always Bill this, or Percy that. Even the twins were special, and they were only two years older than him. But everyone wanted to play with Ginny, or take pictures of the cute, funny twins. No one cared about little, boring Ron. He was only seven, why should they care about him?  
  
Ron Weasley sat in the corner of The Burrow's living room, fiddling with a piece of paper. The rest of the family was busy, his parents getting ready for the graduation ceremony, Percy and Charlie were at school, and Fred and George were off playing some trick. Even Ginny was busy being held by his grandparents. And there he was, sitting in the corner. No one cared about him. He looked down at the piece of paper he was holding and smoothed it out. It was a painting of an owl he had done in primary school. It wasn't great, but pretty good for a seven year-old. At least he thought so. But when he'd brought it home to show his mum, all she had to say was "Yeah? Oh, that's great. Why don't you go play?" She hadn't even looked at it, just brushed him off. She was too busy feeding Ginny to look up. He crumpled the parchment into a ball and threw it across the room before running up the numerous stairs to his room and shutting the door.  
  
They always seemed to ignore you  
Though you try none the less  
  
Ron sat alone in the living room, paging through old comics. Nearby in a corner, Fred and George sat hunched over, heads together, undoubtedly planning something. Sitting up, he walked over, curious. Crouching down next to them, he cocked his head.  
  
"Watcha' doin'?" he asked.  
  
"None of your business." Fred said, turning away. "You're too little to understand."  
  
"I am not! I didn't wanna know any ways." He got up and walked off, ignoring the smothered giggles behind him. He wandered into the kitchen where Charlie sat at the table, bent over a piece of parchment. "Hiya, Charlie!" He said happily. Charlie was his favorite brother usually.  
  
"Go away, Ron. I'm busy," he said. Ron stood puzzled. Charlie never told him to go away before. Hurt, Ron walked away and out the door. Picking up his toy broom, he walked into the nearby woods and sat under a tree, fiddling with the piece of crudely cut wood.  
  
"That's right. Lets' all ignore Ron. He's not worth talking to," he mimicked harshly. "We've all got better things to do, why waste time on him?" He leaned back, feeling the rough tree bark cut into his skin. Sighing, he closed his eyes and drifted off, feeling hurt and dejected. But then again, that was nothing new to him.  
  
And you try to make them listen  
But they never seem to hear  
  
He ran into the kitchen where his mum and dad were discussing Bill (of course). He wanted to show them what he had done earlier in school. He'd been sitting in class, bored as usual, thinking about Quidditch, when his quill had, in a brief eddy of smoke, turned into a small broom, much like the one of Fred's he had once broken. It wasn't his first sign of magic, but the most blatant sign so far. Obviously, he was pretty excited when he skidded into the kitchen.   
  
"Look what I did!" he said excitedly.  
  
"We're busy Ron," his mum said, not looking down.  
  
"But…look!" he stammered, holding up the broom.  
  
"That's great Ron," his dad replied with a brief glance. "But we're really busy here. Why don't you go play with Ginny?"  
  
With tears welling in his eyes and arms drooping, he trudged out of the room and through the living room where Ginny was playing with her fake crystal ball.   
  
"Ron! Play with me!" she called out.  
  
"Go away, I don't wanna play with you," he said, throwing the 'quill' on the floor and running out of the room, crying.  
  
Why don't you give up trying  
They'll never care, I fear  
  
They tell you that they love you  
And you love the lies they say  
  
A family photograph. Three people, two adults and a seven-year-old boy sitting stiffly and staring. Never smiling, even though they move about the frame as all pictures do.  
Each person with perfect clothes, and porcelain faces, but never a single smile.   
  
Draco Malfoy put down the small picture on the mantle of the smaller parlor. He had almost forgotten what a real smile looked like; he saw so few of them. He vaguely remembered smiling maids, but they too soon fell into the stiff and dark atmosphere, blending in with the surroundings. Sighing, he walked out of the room into the smaller library. Flopping down on the floor, he picked up a book about Hogwarts to read about his personal favorite house, Slytherin. He knew one day he'd go to Hogwarts, and he'd be placed in Slytherin as all Malfoy's had. He knew, because his parents had told him so many times before. They told him he'd be a great credit to Slytherin, and grow up to be a powerful wizard like his father. He loved what they told him, it seemed so much fun. Fun wasn't a part of life in the manor. The only time he ever talked to children his own age was when friends of his father brought their kids with them. But these had never been real friends, only carbon copies of their parents as he was of his own father. Little dark wizards in training to become great dark wizards. But even through all the assurances of his future power couldn't chase away the sense of foreboding that maybe; just maybe, things wouldn't turn out the way they had planned. Maybe hey were all lies.   
  
But when you tried so hard to touch them  
They only moved away  
  
It was some days later. Draco sat on the floor in the hallway with tears running down his face and his arms wrapped around his stomach. It hurt, probably from al those sweets he had eaten earlier. But all he knew was that it hurt, and he wanted someone to take the pain away. So he sat silently in the hallway outside hid mothers dressing room. She'd come out soon, ready to go to whatever party she was headed to tonight. He whimpered as he waited, covering up anything louder for fear he might attract servants. He heard an almost inaudible click of the doorknob and the door swung open. Out stepped Mrs. Malfoy, on her way out for the evening. When she saw him sitting on the floor, she frowned.   
  
"What are you doing there?" She asked, pausing for an answer.  
  
"My stomach hurts," he whispered, sniffling. She frowned distastefully.  
  
"Well, why didn't you tell one of the staff? That is what they're here for. To fix things." She stopped a passing maid and directed her to take him to get his pain removed. "And stop crying, it's a bad habit. Now go on, I have to leave and I don't want to be any later than I already am." With that, she swept out of the hallway, leaving a whimpering boy behind on the floor. Draco sniffed again, He'd wanted her to make it better, not some stupid servant. But he followed the girl anyway, it wouldn't do any good to sit there on the floor. From then on, he avoided his distant mother and learned to take the pain without complaint.   
  
And you wonder where the light went  
When the dark got in your way  
  
  
Draco lay in the dark of his massive bedroom, on the green comforter, curled in a ball and surrounded by pillows. Try as he might, the cold seeped through his veins like liquid ice, slowly freezing his blood. The black of his darkened room closed in on him like a thick quilt smothering him in shadows that forced their way down his throat, slowly suffocating him. Reaching over to his bedside table, he flicked on the lamp. Even though the room was now filled with harsh light, it was still as dark as before. Any feeling was sucked out through invisible filters. He turned it back off and lay in the darkness. Memories flooded into his mind like floodwaters, breaking down his mental barriers.   
  
Four years before, early summer. One of the earliest memories. Draco, then three, lay on his back in knee-high grass in the hidden courtyard behind the manor. Nearby, a young girl, aging around 17 and named Hannah, sat weaving flowers into chains. Dropping her work and rushing over, she picked up the toddler and swung him around in circles, laughing happily as he giggled. She was his current nanny, a compassionate girl that felt sorry for the young Malfoy. At the time, she was his favorite person. His mother was forever attending social gatherings, his father immersed in work. For a brief time he was happy, in the care of the only caring person he knew. Hannah was more of a parent than either of his. That time was the brightest of his short life, filled with flowers and sunshine. All the things he had come to forget even existed. Unfortunately, her stay at the manor was short. Shortly after she had arrived, she had discovered, purely accidentally, of the Malfoy ties to the dark arts and fled the manor in fear, abandoning him. From then on he was in the care of house elves, and the light had left his young light, replaced by dark and fear, cold and ice.  
  
Draco lay once again in his bed, tears running down his pale face. The dark once again surrounded him and pressed in, squelching the last remainders of any happiness in hid short life.  
  
Why do you even go on trying  
They don't care anyway  
  
A/N: Okay people, I'm back! As some of you may know, the general song belongs to the Goo Goo Dolls, the best band ever! However, they only own the first two character parts. The rest of the song was written by me, that's right, me. Sorry for taking so long to write! I know it sucks, but it's my first song fic. I'm trying! Hopefully, now that I'm over my writers' block, the rest of my fics will come faster. 'The Prelude- Chapter 2' will be out shortly, I'm almost done. Bye for now! 


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